


Blue Angel

by PeacefulPhoenix



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Angst, Battle Scenes, Canon Typical Violence, Eventual Romance, Feelings, Fluff, Follows Canon, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, Preston's POV, Romance, Self-Doubt, Slow Burn, Some dialogue copied or adapted from canon, Suicidal Thoughts, eventual polyamory
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2016-09-14
Packaged: 2018-07-27 14:34:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7622377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeacefulPhoenix/pseuds/PeacefulPhoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Preston Garvey is about 90% sure that Tucker is an angel sent to save him and his motley crew at the Museum of Freedom. He showed up just in the nick of time, saved the day, and honestly? No one from this world looked that good.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Most men feared death. That’s what people had told Preston time and time again. When he first joined the Minutemen, the man who trained him had warned that he would get scared. He would need to look death in the face as his knees buckled and his arms turned to jelly and he would need to press on. They did not have the luxury to worry about death. Their job was to protect others.

It was a grand speech and when he was still a young man, the words had inspired him. Then he’d begun to go out on missions. He and his team had cowered in fear far more often than they cared to admit. No matter how many times those words ran through his head he couldn’t live by them. Surely no one could face an entire band of raiders or a deathclaw without fear. 

He got better at hiding it over the years, sure. But always in the back of his mind were the whispers of death. They kept him constantly vigilant. Always checking over his shoulder and keeping an eye on his teammates. He hardly ran in fear anymore but some days he wanted to. 

Then Quincy happened. 

Preston wasn’t sure he could pin it down to an exact moment, per se. Perhaps it was when he realized that they were doomed. The gunners outnumbered them too much. There was no chance they would win. Hell, he hadn’t even thought he would escape! Maybe it was when their numbers dwindled to 5. Maybe it was the moment they all found themselves locked in an office with a sea of raiders flooding the building to get at them.

He was the last Minuteman. Garvey had dedicated his life to this cause and now it was gone -- survived only by a handful of people with no prospect of escape. If you asked him, his life was over. They weren't making it out of this. The only reason he planned to keep fighting was to give the people in this room just a few more seconds. The prospect of a clean shot to the heart though didn't sound entirely unappealing. 

“This is all your fault,” Marcy Long spat, pointing a finger at Mama Murphy, sitting calmly on the couch. “You said this would be some kind of sanctuary but it's just the same as everywhere else! I can't believe we trusted your chem-fueled delusions!” Her eyes were alive with fire and even Preston took a step back, tilting his hat down to avoid her wrath.

Mama Murphy kept her calm, smiling politely. Sturges came to her defense before she had a chance to herself, stepping between the two women, one hand raised in Marcy’s direction. “Hey let’s calm down, keep this civil. No use fighting with each other with all that outside,” he said, poking his thumb towards the door and sound of gunshots. “We'd be dead without Mama Murphy. She’s the reason we called the Minutemen in the first place.” His eyes caught Preston’s, earning only a nod in response. 

The rest of the group had all been living at Quincy when Mama Murphy got a “vision” of the settlement’s fall. Preston hesitated to acknowledge the truth to the old woman's claim but the fact was it was true. The Minutemen had been called and they were able to hold off one wave of gunners. There hadn't been only one wave though. They'd been overwhelmed and Preston had led a small group away. 

He was the only one trained in combat here. Marcy might be able to fight if it came down to it, what with her rage but her husband Jun Long was too depressed to move let alone fight, Mama Murphy was too old, and Sturges was a mechanic. He might do okay one v. one but not here. Not when they were so outnumbered. 

“Yeah because that turned out so well! They were able to protect us sooo well,” Marcy replied mockingly, sneering and crossing her arms over her chest. “Maybe my son would be alive if we hadn't called the Minutemen. Maybe we wouldn't be in this situation now.” 

The old lady waved her hand dismissively. “He didn't matter. And we aren't stuck. We’re just waiting for the blue angel. He’ll be here soon. I'm sure of it.” Preston watched her face carefully. Something about the smug smile, the way she looked at him, the shadows falling in her eyes. She was hiding something in that cryptic prophecy, he just couldn't figure it out for the life of him. 

To her credit, it got Marcy to shut up. She babbled for a few seconds, mostly opening and closing her mouth without words before turning around with a huff and sitting next to Jun. From the other side of the room Preston breathed a sigh of relief and turned his gaze once again to the door. The gunfire continued. He didn't even know what they were shooting. Bugs? Each other? Maybe they were just trying to scare them? 

Sturges walked to the balcony, leaning on the doorframe and watching the shapeless raiders buzzing around on the ground. Earlier they had been somewhat patterned, patrolling or something like that. Now they seemed more random. They moved like a swarm, running for cover and avoiding certain areas. 

Then he spotted why. “Preston!” He called without turning to look at the minuteman. “They’re here! She was right!” He pointed to a man currently ducking behind a car in a blue vault suit while sending a very pointed look to Marcy who shot him back a look of pure disgust.

Shock held Preston in place for a second. Could they actually get through this? “We’ve got to cover them,” he ordered, cranking his laser musket. “I've got more rounds on that desk,” he said, pointing somewhere behind him. Without waiting to see if anyone was fetching them, he began firing. It took his several shots to dial in his aim but then he was hitting raiders with near perfect accuracy. His shots weren't enough to seriously wound but they were enough to distract. From there, the vault dweller was able to finish them off. 

“Hey!” Preston called, fully standing on the balcony and waving his arms. The gun he’d been carrying now leaned against the bannister and he just prayed it didn’t fall. “Up here! On the balcony!” Finally, the vault dweller looked up from the corpse he were crouched next to. One hand was still buried in a pocket but for now it seemed Preston had his attention. The minuteman mustered up all the authoritative, leaderly tone he could command to his voice. “I’ve got a group of settlers inside! The raiders are almost through the door! Grab that laser musket and help us! Please!” 

The stranger stood slowly, slapping his thighs to shake the dirt from his hands. It did little for the blood, though, and instead just seemed to stain the otherwise vibrant cloth. “You want me to run into a building of people who want to kill all of us to save you, a complete stranger? How do I know you’re any better than them?” 

“Not for me,” Preston responded evenly, “for them.” There was a very real chance they would walk away now. Hell, most people would. His heart raced in his chest and it felt like his legs would be giving out any moment now as the vault dweller considered the proposition. There was no reason for them to come help. They could just as easily take the laser rifle and leave. 

But they didn’t.

Without a reply they jogged for the door, scooping up the gun and taking a minute to get acquainted with it, shooting a few practice shots into corpses. Then, they disappeared into the building. 

Preston let out a sigh and fell forward onto the bannister, legs finally giving out. They were going to live. Oh god, it was actually happening. If the stranger could fight him way through the building all five of them would make it out of here. 

There was a quiet thud and a cloud of dust as Preston let himself down to the floor. It didn’t seem real. He’d thought the void in his chest would fill when they were safe but it just seemed to get worse. Dark claws of dread seemed to be wrapping around his heart and squeezing until his whole chest hurt and his breathing turned shallow. He hadn’t planned for this, hadn’t expected it. He’d already accepted his death. What if he didn’t have the energy to keep going? Right now, it sure didn’t feel like he did. It felt like the entire world was collapsing around in on him. 

Footsteps pounded on the floor near him but he couldn’t process them, nor the hand that shook his shoulder. “Preston, hey. Are you okay? You’re not shot are you?” A gunshot sure would be a handy excuse for what was happening but he didn’t remember that happening. Without an order from himself, he found his head shaking no and Sturges helped him to his feet, shouldering the gun. “Come on inside.”

“I’m okay,” Preston promised, holding up his hand and walking on his own again. Unsure if he was bluffing or not, Sturges stayed close for several seconds, eyebrows scrunched together and lips forming a slight frown. When he was satisfied he handed over the laser musket again. 

For 30 minutes the sound of gunfire and muffled shouts filled the building. The five sat in the office, hardly moving. Waiting. It was impossible to tell from here how the stranger was doing but the continued fight led them to believe that he was still alive and kicking. With each passing minute, the commotion grew quieter. Fewer voices bounced around the decaying walls and fewer gunshots ricocheted through the hallways. 

Then, the air was still.

More time passed without more than the sound of scuffling somewhere just outside the door. “Well are you going to go check it out or just keep cowering here?” Marcy snapped in a whisper, making no move to investigate herself, instead staying huddled in her corner by her husband. 

Before Preston had a chance to respond, the door creaked open. Instantly, the minuteman’s rifle snapped up to focus on the intruder but fell slack in his arms when he saw who it was. 

One of the many holes in the ceiling sent a stream of light shining down directly behind the vault dweller, framing him in an aura of gold, tinged blue around the suit. Lighter patches on his dark skin seemed to be the sun itself leaving its brand on him. While later he would deny it, Preston was dumbfounded and his lips parted as he drank in the sight. 

“Took care of those raiders for you,” he said, holding out his hand and smiling at the peculiar look on the other man’s face. “Name’s Tucker.”

“Preston Garvey, Commonwealth Minutemen,” he replied, shaking his hand.


	2. Chapter 2

Awkward seconds drug on as Preston continued to keep Tucker’s hand clasped in his own. “So,” the vault dweller finally said, freeing his hand again with a polite style. “What’s up with the whole Minutemen thing? Didn’t think I’d walked into the past. Then again, this would be the place to do it, huh?”

Preston chuckled and bowed his head for a moment, swinging his right hand against his coat before using it to grab the laser rifle from his left. “I suppose I’m not surprised you haven’t heard of us. There was a time when we helped people all over the Commonwealth. Now… Well, a month ago, there were 20 of us. Yesterday there were 8. Now, we’re just 5.” He paused a second to take a deep breath, avoiding Tucker’s eyes and instead turning into the rest of the room. “It’s just me, the Longs -- Marcy and Jun -- that’s old Mama Murphy on the couch. And this here’s Sturges,” pointing to each in turn. 

Sturges nodded, muttering a quick, “Hey,” before returning his focus to the balcony. 

“We figured Concord would be a good place to settle after… Well, those Raiders proved us wrong,” Preston continued. The rifle he now held had once belonged to one of his friends. That notch in the stock had come from a time they’d been spooked by a radstag and dropped the damn thing off a cliff. It’d taken them two weeks to find it after that. 

Tucker nodded, matching Preston’s solemn expression. “I’m sorry to hear about that. It’s always hard to lose friends like that. I wish I could’ve been here sooner.” He put his arm on the minuteman’s shoulder and offered a small smile which Preston was happy to return. 

They didn’t get much time to enjoy the moment. “Boss, we got more incoming!” Sturges called from the window. “More raiders.”

“That’s not all that’s coming,” Mama Murphy predicted darkly, a hint of a chuckle in her voice.

Jun groaned, retreating further into the corner while Marcy leapt up, pointing a finger at the old woman. “You want us to die don’t you, you hag! I’m sick of you saying stuff like that! Tell us what’s coming, damnit!”

Mama Murphy offered a kind smile as though Marcy was a kid who knew nothing. “That’s not how the sight works, darling.”

It was a mess. All Tucker could do was watch it unfold, baffled. These were the people he had risked his life to save. Evidently, though, he wasn’t the only one frustrated by that. “Would you guys quit acting like children!” Preston shouted. Everyone fell silent. “Tucker,” he started, turning to face their newest companion. “Would you be willing to help us out one more time?” It took him a second to consider it before he finally nodded. This man really was an angel, huh? “Thank you. Sturges, give him a run down of the plan. Marcy, pick up your gun. You’re with me. We’ll hold them off for you guys as long as we can.” He caught Tucker’s gaze. “Get them out of here.” 

It was immediately clear to both of them that Preston didn’t expect to make it out of here. Thankfully, Tucker said nothing on it, instead opting to put his hand on Preston’s shoulder and nod. “I will.” Preston returned the gesture, some weight lifted off his shoulders. 

His job was done now. He’d passed off that burden. His people would be safe. Which also meant he didn’t have to be. The two men broke apart, Marcy following Preston to the door leading out of the office while Sturges followed Tucker out the other door, chattering away, trying to get as much information out as fast as possible. 

Meanwhile, Preston and Marcy wasted no time in rushing to the front door. For once, Marcy had the good sense not to argue. None of them did when Preston got it in his mind to do something. Maybe it was how confidently he commanded them or maybe it was just that they knew how stubborn he could be. 

By the time they made it to the stairs down to the first floor, the raiders had already breached the door. Only a couple had ventured in, scouting for the rest of their party it seemed. There was no way that the two of them could take on a whole raider company. They’d be able to take out some, sure. There was enough cover around that they could last. The chances they’d make it long enough for Tucker and Sturges to pull off the plan and get everyone out alive though… 

There was no choice. “I’m going to get that door shut. Cover me,” Preston ordered. Marcy looked between her pipe pistol and him, wide eyed. “You can do it, I promise. Focus. Your husband needs you. If we don’t do this, he dies. You die. I die.” Her head stuttered a yes and he nodded back. 

He gave himself a count of three, counting off with his fingers before he ran from cover. He did his best to get a few shots off at the guy closest to him but, well, he was running. Having surprise on their side sure didn’t hurt. Preston made it halfway across the room before a bullet came whizzing by his head. It made contact with a wooden post just behind him, sending chips flying through the air. 

He paused a moment where he was, dropping to a crouch as he spun to face the raider and crank his gun. Just breath… As he brought the barrel up to face his target, his finger squeezed off a shot. No time to properly aim. It seemed the gamble paid off, though. With a yelp, the raider dropped to the floor, clutching their singed leg. 

As Preston turned and caught a breath he was met by the face of the other raider, mere inches from him, tire iron raised above his head, mid-swing. Time seemed to slow to a standstill. There wasn’t time to crank out a shot and not enough space to shoot at such close range. 

“Fucking move already!” Marcy shouted, peaking out of cover. Then it clicked. He hadn’t been frozen in time. A blooming red patch on the raider’s chest confirmed it. Marcy had saved his life. Not in the mood to waste that gift, he rose and ran for the door. A ringing shot behind him let him know the other raider was down for good now too. 

As soon as he skidded to a halt it was clear it was no use. The raiders were coming too fast. They’d have no time to barricade them. “Too late! Move up! I’ll cover you!” He commanded, ducking behind one of the cement barriers just outside the door. A few raiders took pot shots at them with little luck. Preston returned fire, hitting one and missing 5. Marcy had similar success. 

A crashing thud brought the gunfire to a stop as a suit a power armor seemed to fall from the sky. It stood now, mere feet in front of Preston and Marcy, minigun already spinning up. The plan had worked. 

Tucker wouldn’t need their help now. A group of raider couldn’t do anything to a suit of power armor. They took a moment to catch their breath and reload their guns, keeping behind cover. In minutes, the rest of their crew had joined them at the entrance. 

With a whir, the minigun spun to a stop and Tucker walked out of the building. His left hand dropped off the gun, popping off his helmet instead and tucking it under his arm. A smile stretched across his face as he noticed everyone was safe. “The suit works like a dream,” he called.

“Fan out, see if you can find anything useful but be quick. I don’t want to stick around much longer,” Preston commanded before walking up to Tucker. “I don’t know if we can ever repay you for what you’ve done for us but this is a start.” He handed over a pouch filled with what must have been a hundred bottle caps. 

To say the Tucker looked perplexed and confused would be an understatement. He said nothing though, tucking it into a space in the armor. “Just glad I could help. And, well, I’ve always wondered what it would be like to wear one of these suits in a fight. Glad to see it lives up to the reputation,” he added with a chuckle, setting the minigun on the pavement with a loud thud. 

“Boss, watch out!” Sturges yelled from one of the storefronts. All at once, the ground began to shake under their feet. They turned around too late to find a Deathclaw only a few strides away. And they were woefully unprepared. There wasn’t enough time to get the minigun spun up or put on the helmet before it would reach them and Preston’s gun was back leaning against the concrete. 

Before Preston had even had time to analyze the situation Tucker had thrown away his helmet, freeing up both hands. His fists were up at his chest and his legs braced for impact. There was no way… He wasn’t going to try to fist fight a deathclaw was he? Oh god, he was. 

The irradiated lizard hit Tucker with alarming force, going from full speed to a dead stop. The impact sent Tucker skidding back several feet, boots still planted in the road and fists wrapped around the beast’s horns. Asphalt flew into the air as Preston dove out of the way, stopping just beside the minigun.

It was difficult not to watch with terrified awe. Tucker was dwarfed in comparison to it and yet he held his ground with impressive resolve. Steam hissed in the 200 year old armor, working far passed its capacity as he tried to gain some leverage. It was only when his knees started to buckle that Preston lept into action again. 

Even before attempting to lift the gun off the ground, Preston could tell this would be difficult without the help of power armor. He’d been trained with light-weight laser rifles, after all, not miniguns! Several deep breaths and an impressive amount of sheer will did it. Seconds later, bullets flew from the minigun, tearing the deathclaw to pieces and sending it flying across the street. 

Unable to do much else, Preston let the gun drop and Tucker relaxed his stance, letting his knee fall to the ground. Blood covered both of them and their breaths came in ragged gasps. Nothing like intense fights and near death experiences to get the blood pumping.

From the side of the road, Mama Murphy waddled over. “Oh, we’re keeping this one,” she commented, just a hint of something suggestive in her tone as she pointed her thumb at Tucker. Preston fell back on his ass and just started laughing.


	3. Chapter 3

Only one short week after their dramatic rescue, the world had seemed to do a 180. For the first time in, hell it must’ve been years, Preston found himself relaxed. After being trained for so many years to be ready at a minute’s notice, he never thought he’d be able to take a break. Yet here he was, reclining in a fold-up lawn chair, shaded by what remained of a pre-war car port.

With practised ease, he held a nuka cola to the arm of the chair and slammed his hand down on the cap sending it flying into the air. Making a mental note to collect it later, he let the cap fall to the ground and brought the glass to his lips. Birds sung in the background and the sun beamed down as he sipped on the drink.

For months, Mama Murphy had been rambling about some sort of sanctuary that they would find, someplace they would be safe. He’d dismissed it at first, in no rush to trust the chem-fueled visions of an old woman. It seemed that for once, they had actually been quite literal. After getting everything squared away in Concord, Tucker had led them to a quiet suburban cul de sac called Sanctuary Hills. Multiple houses sprawled down the street, some in complete disrepair and others practically untouched. To top it all off, it was safe. There was no Yao Guai family or raider group to drive settlers away. In fact, it seemed almost too good to be true.

As days had passed without incident, he finally allowed himself to truly believe in it. There was no catch here. Marcy and Jun were actually honest to god smiling, sitting on a blanket in the front yard of one of the houses and sharing a meal. A couple yards down, Mama Murphy was sat in a lawn chair of her own, having what seemed to be a rather animated conversation with the Mr. Handy that had been floating around the houses when they arrived. Tucker had called him by name, Codsworth, but had yet to explain how the two had met. 

Garvey was torn from his observations of the other members of his team when something wet pressed against his fingers. When he turned to look he found a rather excited german shepherd looking up at him expectantly, tail thumping against the concrete. When he failed to move immediate the dog nudged Preston’s hand with his snout again. “Alright, alright,” Preston told the dog with a quiet laugh, scratching behind his ear.

They’d found him just around the corner at the Red Rocket Truck Stop. Dogmeat, Mama Murphy had called him. It seemed a rather cruel name if you asked Preston. You wouldn’t name a person humanmeat would you? But he was the sweetest dog he’d ever met. There weren’t that many tame dogs around. Most were try to bite you as soon as they saw you. When they’d first caught sight of Dogmeat running at them, well, there had been concerns. Weapons had been drawn but thankfully, no one had gotten hurt. 

Preston’s single largest distraction that day, however, came from Tucker and Sturges. From the moment they’d arrived here, the two had been thick as thieves. It’d taken a lot of work to get this place liveable again and they had worked from before sunset to long after the sun set each day. It seemed that today would be no different.

Had he any experience building, Garvey might have offered to help. Seeing as he didn’t, he figured that he would get in the way more than anything if he tried. If he was being honest, it suited him even better not to help. It meant he was allowed to relax in the shade with a rather… pleasant view. 

The commonwealth sun was unforgiving and even standing in it for several minutes could leave one tired and sweaty. Of course, Sturges and Tucker weren’t merely standing. They hauled lumber from one house to another, reinforcing walls, repairing roofs, building fences, planting crops, and attempting to get a water pump set up. It wasn’t long before their shirts were soaked through with sweat and once that happened, they went without.

At the moment, the two were taking a break. Tucker had his back to the workbench as Sturges stood in front of him, one hand planted just beside Tucker’s leg. Sturges said something and both started laughing. Wonderful belly laughs that caught in the breeze and made it to Preston. He couldn’t make out exactly what they were saying but he could read the way they held themselves and the looks they cast. It was obvious they were flirting. 

It also became obvious to Preston that the sense of dread pulling the smile from his lips and closing like an iron grip around his heart was envy. To be fair, Preston wasn’t entirely sure which one his heart yearned for. Sturges had been a fast friend of Garvey’s from the moment they found each other in Quincy and Tucker was, well, a god send, some sort of guardian angel that seemed much larger than life. Both had, at different times, made his heart race and his face flush. And now it seemed that he had no chance with either of them, each seemingly far too preoccupied with the other. 

But then Tucker looked over, catching Preston’s gaze and shooting him a smile. Heat rushed to his cheeks and he tugged his hat down and quickly looked away, desperately trying to instead focus on the dog still sat at his feet. Out the corner of his eye, Preston could tell the vault dweller was hardly bothered and just laughed and carried on with his conversation as though nothing had happened. 

Except that he didn’t. While Preston was insistently looking away, Tucker pat Sturges on the shoulder and walked away, making a beeline for the minuteman. “So,” he said as he popped a squat in front of Preston, pleasant smile gracing his lips and one hand brushing across Dogmeat’s back. “Enjoying the view?” The blush already touching Garvey’s cheeks just got worse as he spluttered, trying to come up with a reply. Tucker laughed it off and, dear god, Preston was done for. 

The vault dweller took a step back and stood, offering his hand. “Come on, walk with me.” After he seemed reluctant to do anything of the sort, Tucker tutted and rolled his eyes. “I’m not gonna bite. And if it makes you more comfortable I’ll put my shirt back on,” he suggested with a short laugh. 

As Preston took his hand and stood, he nodded meekly. “Alright,” Tucker replied brightly, strolling towards the house he’d claimed as his own. “Just give me a sec. I’ll be right back.” Without checking to see if Preston had responded, he vanished into the house. Preston took the moment alone to try to get a grip of himself. Slapping his cheeks and dragging his hands down, pulling the skin with it, he groaned. No matter how angelic he seemed, Tucker was just a person. He wasn’t a literal angel. Probably. 

By the time he reappeared from the house, now dressed in a button up with the sleeves pulled up to the elbows, Preston had gotten control again. “You never did tell me about that vault you’re from. I haven’t heard of 111 before and, well, you don’t seem like you’ve been above ground for long,” the minuteman commented, waving his hands in front of him as he spoke. 

Tucker’s smiled pleasantly though Preston noted that it didn’t quite reach his eyes. His hands were clasped behind his back and shoulders rolled back. It reminded Preston of a stance he’d often seen trained minutemen take. “The vault’s right up that hill,” Tucker replied, nodding up to the sloping earth behind the houses. “You’re right about me being new to all this. I only got out a couple week ago.”

“Well if we’re so close why don’t you go back?” The vault dweller tensed almost imperceptibly at the question and Preston quickly realized he was touching on what may be a sore subject. “Sorry, I’ve heard about the experiments Vault Tec performed. I’m sure you had a reason to leave.”

One of Tucker’s thumbs ran across the back of the other hand as he mulled it over. “What year is it?” he finally asked, catch Preston’s gaze for a brief second before looking ahead once again. 

Puzzled, Preston’s forehead screwed up but he kept pace with his companion. “2287.” There were a hundred reasons someone might ask for the year, right? Surely there were perfectly logical explanations. It was quite easy to lose track of time in the Commonwealth after all. 

“I see.” Tucker came to a sudden stop in front of one of the houses, colliding with Preston and nearly sending him tumbling. “Ms. Rosa lived here,” he stated, pointing at one of the houses. “She had a son. He was so excited for Halloween. Running around with his costume a month early.” He pointed at another house. “Mr. and Mrs. Whitfield. They were the newest in the neighborhood. They’d only been married a year and a half. They wanted to start a family.”

On and on he went, pointing at one house after another. For each house he had a story and a family. All except the one he’d ordered that no one enter; the one right beside the one he’d claimed. Preston’s mouth spoke wordlessly, unable to actually form any intelligent thought, let alone words. For a solid minute Tucker stared at the last house, hand rubbing his mouth and jaw. “And that one was mine.” 

“So you-” Tucker began nodding even before Preston finished speaking. “If you’re trying to imply that you’re pre-war, I’m not buying it.” He totally was. “That’s crazy! You’re obviously not a ghoul so there’s no way you’re survived for 200 years. So what, did your vault use these houses or-?” When Tucker answered only with a mirthful laugh and a knowing look Preston shook his head. “Wow, you’re not kidding. Pre-war… So you saw all this… everything before it was all destroyed?”

“Imagine my shock. I leave one war just to find myself in the middle of another one it seems.” The gears began to click into place in the minuteman’s mind but before he could get to far, he was stopped. “Not a soldier. A mechanic. I fixed up power armor and the robots mostly. Ya know, sentry bots and Mister Gutsys. Stuff like that. Never much of a fighter myself.”

Preston fired back with a laugh that Tucker picked up too. “Tell that to the deathclaw. I can’t say I’ve ever seen someone try to take one on with just their bare hands before.” The image flashed once again through his head, no doubt embellished. It had been heroic exaggerated or not, though. 

A finger waggled in Preston’s general direction and a smile stretched across Tucker’s face. “I would’ve been that thing’s lunch if you hadn’t saved the day. I was just the distraction.” And what a distraction he was. 

“Y’all about done? I wanna get this roof all fixed up ‘fore night comes ‘round. You keep him much longer, boss, and we won’t be able to get it done,” Sturges called, sauntering on over to join the pair. “Not interruptin’ anything, I hope.”

A faint blush painted Preston’s cheeks once again and he shook his head. “Not interrupting anything, don’t worry. He’s all yours.”

“Shame. Reckon you two’d make a nice pair.” Preston coughed awkwardly, shuffling on his feet which just made Sturges laugh more. “Wanna come help out, boss? Think I got some stuff you could do. Nothin’ too big for you to handle.”

Preston put up a hand and shook his head. “I think I’ll pass. I should go and make sure perimeter.” He didn’t plan to say anything else. Honestly, he didn’t. But just before they turned to leave, he found himself speaking regardless. “Let’s do this again sometime. Maybe have some lunch.”

Already unbuttoning his shirt again and walking backwards, Tucker answered with a wink. “It’s a date.” Preston’s knees went weak and he vowed to count down the seconds until then.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning, there is a panic attack in this chapter but it all ends up okay. So I won't leave you hanging on that note. Sorry that I haven't been posting often. I just began college and took some time to work on other projects.

Falling into a pattern was perhaps one of the hardest, most frightening things Preston Garvey had done in quite some time. He had fallen into a pattern twice in his life. The first time, he was living with his parents, 2 brothers, and 4 sisters on a farm far removed from any other settlement. It was easy living and they never encountered a single problem. Their crops were plentiful and Preston never had to know the pain and fear that his parents had fought so hard to escape.

In the light of candles, he learned to read, taught by his father night after night. Pre-war textbooks were his guide, mostly history books and books about plants and fauna. By day, his mother taught him how to tend the crops and help them to grow strong and fruitful. Every few days, his eldest sister would take him out to practice shooting cans off the fence surrounding their homestead.

He made it to age 15 before his skewed perceptions of the world were righted. Raiders stumbled upon the farm while fleeing the pursuit of Minutemen, at that time still a force to be reckoned with. The raiders had enough of a lead to pause their escape long enough to attack the Garvey farm. 

No one was killed but a baseball bat to the kneecap gave Preston’s father a limp for the rest of his life. All their crops and caps were taken at gunpoint. They gained scars that day, both mental and physical, that never quite went away. As the raiders left, they put the farm to the torch, leaving it unsuitable to grow much of anything. All they had worked for was gone in a single afternoon. 

When the Minutemen came by a day later, Preston joined without a second thought. Thus began the second time in Preston’s life where he fell into a routine. 

Each day with them was training and drills and studying maps. He was well enough fed and his life felt good. He wasn’t providing for just his family now. The people he protected spanned the Commonwealth. And they actually needed him. He was helping people, doing good. 

But then that too fell to ruin. First with the fall of the Castle and then with Quincy. 

As Preston patrolled the banks of Sanctuary these nights ran through his mind over and over again. The settlement was really coming along. The bridge had been repaired and many houses now stood as grand as the day they were built. Well… They had attempted to restore them. An attempt had even been made to paint their repairs to the walls to match the wallpaper. The operative word being attempt.

Turrets lined the waterline and the bridge, discouraging anyone who might be inclined to attack. Roughly once a week a new settler would come through asking for food, a roof to sleep under, or work. Often times, they got all three. Many went to work in the field with the Longs or helped with guard duty. They were both well defended and well prepared. Garvey should have nothing to worry about. 

And yet there went his racing heart, pounding away like a war drum in his chest. With each concussive pound, it stole with it his air, leaving him damn near gasping for breath. As he fought his legs to stay standing the rest of the world seemed to fade. Whether it was because he literally couldn’t process it or simply because he didn’t pay attention, all else was lost to him. 

The moment he made it into his house the door slammed shut and he dropped like a stone to the floor. The absolutely suffocating guilt at leaving his post without asking someone to cover for him certainly didn’t help. If someone attacked the place and people died it would be his fault. More blood on his already stained hands. He swore that he could actually still see the blood on them. But, of course, that was just his mind playing tricks. 

He didn’t notice the tears until one hit his lip. His finger swept it up, mind clearing for a fraction of a second as he processed this new information. Had he really been crying? Was that what this was? Was he sad? He had no right to be sad! Things were good again! 

And once more the anxiety washed over him. 

The creak of the door and gentle steps upon yellowed linoleum fell on deaf ears. “Preston?” That, too, gained no response. It was only when Tucker squatted on the floor beside him, laying his hand on the other man’s shoulder that he got a response. Preston pulled away violently, staring at him wide-eyed before relaxing once again. Barely. 

Still he didn’t talk. The only sound he seemed capable of making was a breathless mix between a gasp and a sob. His eyes held Tucker’s only long enough to begin a renewed bout of sobbing. His arms shook almost violently and he huddled into an even tighter ball. Tucker wasn’t supposed to see him like this. No one was supposed to see him like this. He had to be strong for everyone else. And who would ever want someone so broken. All at once he’d left Sanctuary undefended, made everyone think he was weak, and blown his chance with Tucker. 

The vault dweller pulled his hand back, assuming it wasn’t welcome and sat down cross-legged in front of Preston. “Can you talk?” he asked calmly, almost gently. Preston thought about it for a moment, hiccupping in the process before shaking his head. No. It would be too hard. He could barely hear over all the noise in his head there was no way he could talk.

“Okay. You don’t have to say anything. Just nod yes or no. Can you do that?” A nod. “Okay good. You’re doing just fine, Preston.” Tucker put out both hands, palms up. “Can you take my hands? Good, good.” He ran his thumbs across the backs of Preston’s knuckles, hoping to ease some of the quaking. “Are you hurt?” A barely there head shake no. 

Sturges stood in the doorway, worry written clearly on his face. With a nod of his head, Tucker beckoned him in. The door slipped shut almost without a sound and the mechanic came to sit just off to the side. He didn’t much seem to mind that Preston had yet to notice him and remained silent. 

Tucker turned his gaze once more to the trembling man before him. “Did something happen on patrol? Did you see something?” This time, he got no response. It wasn’t entirely clear if that was due to a sudden loss of the ability to communicate or if Preston simply didn’t want to answer. Either way, Tucker was at a loss of what to do beside sitting silently and waiting for a response.

Of course, he wasn’t the only one there. “Hey boss, it’s me,” Sturges started, voice barely more than a whisper. Slowly and carefully he stretched out his hand and put it on Preston’s knee. “Looked like you were havin’ a mighty rough time there. Glad you got back here though. Nice ‘n safe here.”

Something about Sturges’ voice calmed the shaking just a bit. “Sturges?” He looked up, eyes red and hazy as he scanned the room, focusing only when they found their mark. 

“That’s right. I’m right here.” Preston let go of one of Tucker’s hands and instead took Sturges’. “What’s got you so spooked boss? Is it Quincy again? Cause we’re safe here. You and Tucker made sure of that, ‘member?”

It seemed as if Preston had suddenly forgotten Tucker was even there, attention now entirely devoted to Sturges. Tucker couldn’t say he minded. It seemed to be working. “We’re not safe. We’re never safe,” Preston mumbled, squeezing Sturges’ hand tighter. “I’m gonna mess up and then you’re going to die because of me.”

“No. No, you’re safe Preston. And I, for one, don’t plan on dyin’ any time soon. So you can get that thought right on outta your head now, ya hear?” The words sounded almost aggressive but Sturges’ voice was gentle and his eyes soft. 

With lips still shaking but no longer crying, Preston began, “But what if-” He couldn’t finish the sentence; couldn’t dare imagine Sturges dying like so many others had already. 

The quiet laugh sounded so wonderfully out of place. A welcome change. “What do you think we’re keepin’ Tucker ‘round for? ‘S up to him to keep me safe, aint it?” He nudged Tucker’s arm subtly and the vault dweller was quick to nod his agreement. 

The silence fell again but for now, Preston no longer found it awkward. Having someone at his side as he lost control was equal parts embarrassing and reassuring. And new. For years he’d suffered through these things alone. Now, there were two men sitting before him and attempting to offer their comfort. It was… stranger and good and only slightly terrifying. And incredibly draining he realized as the shaking stopped and his shoulders slumped. 

Instantly Sturges picked up on it. “Do you want me to help you to bed? We’ll cover your shift on patrol so don’t worry ‘bout that.” Preston nodded, eyes already closed and Sturges helped him to his feet. It was almost too tempting for Preston to just let his body relax and force Sturges to carry him. His arms were strong and his grasp tight and the minuteman was just so tired. 

The minute he fell to the bed, he was out, not even bothering to get beneath the sheets. Sturges exited the room nearly silently and met up with Tucker once he was outside. Both men looked absolutely drained and defeated. Not sure where to start, they walked in silence for several minutes.

There was no real reason to do the patrols, if you asked them. Turrets were well placed all along the border of the settlement and there were plenty of other people. But they’d promised Preston and, well, this kind of thing mattered to him. He always got antsy when they convinced him to take a break or skip a shift. They’d given up on that by now, really. There was no point.

“‘Fore you ask, Preston ain't broken.” Tucker had no plans to ask a question of that kind but he kept his silence and let Sturges speak. “You didn’t grow up out here. Fucks with you real bad. Bullet holes and walls you can fix. People? Not so easy. You folks had it easy back ‘fore the bombs.” 

To his surprise, the comment actually felt like a stab in the chest to Tucker. Of course everyone in the wasteland would imagine the pre-war world to be without difficulties. But this was the first time someone had actually said it. “I was in the war.” As a mechanic not a soldier, but the distinction hardly seemed relevant at the moment. “I know.” He’d seen friends go through what Preston was. PTSD, depression, anxiety, and worse. Never had he seen someone handle it as well as Sturges though. 

After several seconds of stunned silence, Sturges nodded. “Shit, sorry, you’re right. I’ve just been lookin’ out for him for so long now. Hard not to get a bit overprotective.” 

“I understand.”

Once again they fell into a comfortable silence. Tucker got the sense he’d seen something just then that he wasn’t supposed to. The way that Sturges and Preston had interacted had been intimate in a way he’d seen before in either. It felt as though he’d been eavesdropping on a private conversation between two lovers or something of that nature. It was a reminder that he’d walked in on a group of people that had known each other for quite some time, a group that it would take time for him to find his place in. 

But that didn’t really bother him. Because both Preston and Sturges had allowed him in on that conversation. There had been room for him to try to help, no matter how shitty a job he’d done. He was finding his place with these people, with Garvey and Sturges. It might take some time to define that position but it seemed to be a good one.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments keep my world a-spinning! Consider leaving one or both if you liked it.


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